The Actor
by Pani Drzwi
Summary: 'All the world's a stage. The men and women merely players. They have their exits, and their entrances. And one man in his time plays many parts.' - William Shakespeare. Truer words have never been spoken... Valtor centric, done for The Random Quote challenge on WCFC forum.


**This is my submission for The Random Quote Challenge, over on the Winx Club Fanfiction Challenges forum (which is awesome and you should totally check it out if you haven't already ;)). **

**As soon as I read the quote, I thought of Valtor (especially with the "And one man in his time plays many parts') and so here's a one-shot featuring everyone's favourite dark wizard. It's a little bit AUish, a little cannonish and a little headcannonish, but I hope that you enjoy it nonetheless. **

**Disclaimer : I do not own Winx Club. **

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'_All the world's a stage. The men and women merely players. They have their exits, and their entrances. And one man in his time plays many parts.'_

_-William Shakespeare_

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"All the world's a men and women merely players! They have their exits, and their entrances. And one man in his time plays many parts...", Valtor quotes softly under his breath, bright golden orbs glinting in the dim light from underneath the burgundy hood, observing the scene of chaos unfolding right before his eyes.

He is filled with a cold, detached sense of amusement as he watches the gathering of suspicious looking individuals bicker amongst themselves.

Oh, how amusing they are - _players_ indeed! Too bad that they all possess the subtlety of the proverbial bull in the china house. Still, they provide him with a source of amusement as each one tries to prove why his value should be placed above that of all the others.

He chuckles lightly as he turns his attention to two haggard looking witches squabbling amongst themselves as to who should be chosen to lead the attack on Eraklyon next month.

"Clearly, _I_ have more experience in leading a squad than you, Geraldine! Which is why _I_ _am_ the _obvious_ choice!", the high-pitched voice of the short witch with greasy hair echoes through the small cavern wherein the Whisperian Coven has gathered for their weekly meeting.

"Your 'experience'? Pfft!", the taller one with plain, almost manly, features answers in a loud bass voice, trying to drown out the indignant shrieks of her opposition. "May I take a moment to remind you of your numerous recent failures? The campaign you led on Zenith? What an utter _joke_!"

"As if _you're_ the one to talk?!", the first witch interrupts in a shrill tone which makes Valtor wince. Dear Dragon, why must all those brainless witches communicate with such ear-drum popping squeaks?

"Be quiet, all of you!" Mistress Belladonne's voice cuts through the rowdy bickering like a shard of ice, mercifully bringing that painful cacophony of noise to a stop.

Every being (but him) in the room freezes and the temperature appears to have dropped below zero as every shaky breath now becomes a cloud of mist. The Ancestress's power is so colossal that her mere physical being is not enough to contain it ; instead it spills into the surroundings covering everything in a thick cloak of infinite coldness.

Brutal, harsh and unforgiving - three little words which describe their great leader _oh_ _so_ _perfectly_.

"As always you choose to squabble over nothing like a pack of dogs instead of focusing on our great task! How you disappoint me...", they shudder as Belladonne's keen gaze rests on them. Valtor stifles the urge to laugh, what fools! "But I shall not waste any more time on you : go now, your instructions shall come to you in three days. Dissmissed!"

Unanimously they all disappear, in clouds of smoke and mist. All, but him.

Never him.

He is a player of a different class after all, so much more adept at this game some call much more beloved by the Ancestral Witches, their son in all but blood.

This is his first role : son.

"Valtor, you shall lead the attack on Eraklyon. We have faith in you, prove us right."

_Fail us and die_, is what hangs in the air and Valtor, the skilful player picks this veiled threat with ease.

He isn't worried, not at all.

A mother's love is always tough, or so they say. He is their son, created from shadow and Dragon Flame, and he is too precious a piece to carelessly toss away.

"I will.", he assures them, tone brimming with determination.

He wants to prove himself and the desire to succeed is burning brightly within him, fuelled by his internal fire.

History is written by the victors and he has no intention of ending up as nothing more than a page in someone else's history book.

No, _he_ will be the writer and he shall write his history with fire at the end of the world when nought will exist, only him. Not even his 'mothers'.

Valtor smirks internally. A son he may be, but certainly not a loyal one! No, he plays this part in the likeness of the prodigal son, loyal until it will no longer suit him.

For now it suits him very well and so for the next three days he does not leave the Great Library of Whisperia. He pours over documents and books and maps, drawing up the strategy of a victor.

The attack proves to be a success, _of_ _course_, and Valtor arrives at the feet of the Ancestral Witches with magical scrolls in the one hand and the head of the Duke of Isis, the most senior Eraklyonite advisor, in the other.

He is showered with praise and honour and importance, and thus he advances to his next role : the apprentice.

It is now that the Witches _finally_ begin sharing their vast knowledge with him.

He spends days, nights and weeks in the bowels of Shadow Haunt, eyes raking over some of the most ancient, most supreme spells in the Universe as he greedily absorbs their knowledge. He feels strangely giddy and _just a little bit insane_ but by the Dragon, he loves it!

He _needs_ this, he _craves_ these spells and facts and ideas like a drowning man craves oxygen. Neither love nor fortune nor health matter, just _this_.

This is knowledge and knowledge is power.

And Valtor likes power, very much. Indeed, he has already began to imagine himself in the main part of every play - the part of the King.

When his 'mothers' feel that he is ready (and he himself feels so too - how _could_ he not be ready when he has read and learnt everything there was about everything there is?), he is sent on his first solitary mission. The task appointed to him takes him into the very heart of Domino, the very planet they need to destroy to have the Universe bow at their feet.

In the royal city of Sparx, Valtor begins playing his next role.

By a strange twist of fate, or more likely just sheer luck, he is appointed as the Head Advisor to Domino's newest King, Oritel the VIIth.

It is so _ridiculously_ easy to infiltrate this 'Great Power', that it almost makes him want to laugh straight into the idiot Oritel's face and dramatically proclaim long monologues, so typical of all those tragic characters in the plays of old which today's children so adore.

But then again, the Dominoans have had little to worry about in the first place with no ripples on the surface of their perfect society.

The old King, Dracus the XVI had long led the planet to peace and prosperity. Over the long seventy years of the good King's reign the rich have grown even richer while the poor have grown poorer.

On the surface, life in Domino is a perfect masquerade of balls and jewels and passionate love affairs. The foolish nobles see no reason of concern and turn their attentions back to goblets of exquisite wine and fine feasts.

But Valtor is not a noble and he especially is not foolish - he can clearly see the disease which is rotting right through the very core of Domino's society. Soon there shall be unrest, and violence too as the hard working peasants will at last have enough courage to revolt.

And then, with a little help from the Whisperian Coven, Domino shall fall.

'Perfect!', Valtor muses as he observes the new King pay final respects to his father, a small silent tear or two sliding down the side of his nose. Tears which the respectful courtiers, all dressed solemnly in black for the occasion, pretend not to notice.

Valtor navigates his way carefully through this depressing sea of muted black and grey to stand next to the Princess Dafne.

He bows his head respectfully to her grandfather's body before reaching over to squeeze the Princess's dainty hand. Dressed from head to toe in black satin with a black veil obscuring her face, she is truly a dispiriting sight as she mourns her beloved grandfather and King.

"I am so sorry for your loss." Valtor murmurs softly, his voice sweet like honey and dripping with false empathy. But he is a good actor, _always_, and so the Princess doesn't even think to question his authenticity. "He was a good King."

"Thank you, Valtor.", the Princess says back just as softly, her usually sweet musical voice, wobbly. "Yes, he was."

"It is all up to your father now." Valtor says after a moment of respectful silence, his thumb softly caressing the Princess's hand in a comforting gesture.

He struggles to keep amusement out of his tone, because _really_ Oritel is nothing more than a great fool. Valtor has no doubt that he will be a useless King just like he was a useless Prince, and not even the fiery Marion will be able to help him out now! Women do not get involved in the running of the kingdom, at least not in Domino.

The Princess remains silent and she stiffens slightly, but she does not remove her hand out of his grasp.

Three months pass and the kingdom slowly begins to unravel, thanks in equal parts to : the old King's harsh policies, the new King's harsh inadequacy and Valtor's harsh brilliance at playing his part.

Riots and protests spring up and are the consequently squashed, earning Oritel not the love of his people who feel that their pleas are being ignored.

The annual Magix Council arrives and Oritel and Miriam focus their attention on keeping up pretences while Valtor focuses his attention on the Princess Dafne.

She is indeed a sweet little thing! Not only does she posses the traditional, calm beauty of the House of Draco (so _refreshingly_ different than the harsh, blaring, fiery beauty of Marion and the rest of the Fire Dynasty, and so of the majority of the Court!) but also a good, leveled head on her dainty little shoulders.

Valtor is almost surprised, _almost_, by just how much he grows to enjoy their winded discussions on magic, laws of the universe and power. She does have ambitions, this girl, and so much unexplored potential that it is almost tragic to see how constrained she is, how reluctant are Oritel and Marion to let her spread her wings.

Oh, he feels that he will never forget the fire in the eyes of the 'calm' Princess which sparks as she discusses the power of Sirenix with him!

"I know that it is risky, but I feel that I must do it, Valtor. For my people.", she shouts, almost feverishly , at him near the end of another one of their long winded debates. He has never seen her raise her voice before, ever.

Always, it had seemed that all the Princess Dafne was, could _ever_ possibly be, was demure and feminine and delicate.

For the first time since he became a player, Valtor is at the loss of words. He just stares at Dafne who is staring back at him, chest heaving and eyes aflame with a passion he had never seen in anyone before.

It is then, and by the Dragon he will never know what on Shadow Haunt had caused him to do it, that he grabs her by the shoulders, pulls her towards him and brings his lips crashing against hers. She kisses him back just as frenziedly, and he allows her fire, her Light, _pure_ fire so different to his, to overwhelm him.

For an infinity and a second it seems as if the Universe is unmade and all that exists is him and Dafne and their fire.

And so begins his next part - that of the lover. Valtor is enjoying playing this part much more than he would like to ever admit. Countless hot, summer days pass by filled with nothing more than sweet kisses, caresses, and the 'I love yous' whispered in each other's ear along with other sweet nothings, and walks in the gardens, and laughter, and embraces, and picnics, and dances and _her_.

His goal however, remains at the back of his mind.

He already practically is the King of Domino with Oritel's delightful daughter at his side but that is not enough. He wants to rule nothing more and nothing less than the entire Magical Dimension and play the ultimate part as he sits on the throne of Magix , perhaps even with Dafne beside him. (He might not have been expecting this development, he might not have written it down in his play but it _has_ happened and he would be lying if he was to say that he is not enjoying it. )

For that, however, he needs the help of his mothers still.

And so he charms and dazzles Dafne and she gladly tells him each and every one of Domino's guarded secrets with trusting eyes and a loving smile on her face as she caresses the side of his face.

Valtor, the ever dutiful son and skilled player of the game that he is, passes this information straight to his Coven.

And so great is the Fall of Domino.

His next part passes by in a frenzy and chaos of blood and screams and fire. He plays the deadly warrior with ease, cutting down his enemies one by one whilst keeping a tally inside his head for his own amusement. The rush of battle and bloodlust pulses in his ears and he rejoices in the dance of combat against the famed Company of Light.

Too late does he remember his future Queen in this chaos and for the first time ever he _feels fear_ as he rushes down the golden corridors of the Royal Palace screaming her name.

He finds Princess Dafne of Domino, the first of her name, dead at the feet of her father's throne, the ancient Seat of the Dragons, having given up her life for that of her infant sister's.

She is laying there, golden dress and golden hair meshing with the golden stone floor, empty hazel eyes staring blankly upwards and a small trickle of blood at the corner of her lovely mouth. She is a perfect representation of a sick kind of macabre beauty.

Valtor is very aware of something lodged in his throat as he sinks to his knees at her side with a pained moan.

His exquisite Golden Queen, his hidden joy, _his Dafne_ is dead and he feels empty. And the part of the lover shatters as he mourns all that could have been.

The part of the warrior, also falls apart now, piece by painful piece as the Campaign fails and the bothersome Company of Light emerges victorious, albeit at a great cost.

Dafne is gone, his mothers are gone, Oritel and Marion are gone along with countless others.

And so now begins the darkest, most despairing act of his life.

He is branded a traitor and made to play the part of the criminal.

He screams and shouts and _pleads_ his innocence but to the Company of Light his act is, for the first time, unconvincing. They unanimously agree and toss him into the Omega Dimension without even giving him the decency of a proper trail before the Magix Council.

Even the _worst_ of the worst in the Magical Dimension have been given a fair trail yet it appears that his crimes are so heinous that he is now past this meagre pity.

He is locked in the freezing hell of Omega for all eternity, frozen in place but painfully conscious for every moment of the following seventeen years.

At first he doesn't know what to do (not that he _can_ physically do much) and just remains frozen with his head devoid of any thoughts. From time to time, there is a snippet of his life when he was at his greatest but other than that nothing.

He seems to be in a permanent state of dead shock and anguish and helplessness and he, Valtor the Most Powerful Wizard in the Magical Dimension, he who had studied all the magical texts that exist on everything that is, he who had always been the master player in this game, is at a loss of what to do once more.

(Only this second time is much, _much_ worse for he is alone.)

But slowly, it passes and he returns to life once again.

Nothing can last forever, except the Dragon Fire. He is made from the Dragon Fire and so he shall remain.

And as his consciousness recovers and his wonderful mind springs back into action, he thinks clearer than ever before as his eyes are open anew to the game.

He knows what he must do. He knows what he will do.

After all this years and so much pretence and blood and fire, he will complete his goal. He will play the part of the King. He will avenge his sweet pretty Queen and he will destroy those who had destroyed him once.

If he were capable of it now, Valtor would definitely have laughed out loud, in equal parts hysterical and exulting.

All that needs to happen now is...

_Crack!_

His ice prison shatters and he is free once more! _Free!_

His golden eyes flash open and from the start the future King is faced with his first obstacle. An ice snake.

Valtor, the Master Wizard makes quick work of it to the appreciation of three young women, Witches, who appear to be the ones who had broken him out of his cold prison.

"Impressive", says the 'pale' one, a sense of respect shining in her silvery eyes.

Respect is good, it is something the master player can easily work with and use to his own advantage. With ease, he slides back into one of his favourite parts - the one of a smooth talking manipulator- and makes short work of these three.

They are Icy, Darcy and Stormy and they actually are all that is left of his Mother Coven. They are quick to tell him all he needs to know (most importantly - how long he's been imprisoned for) and also share their own story with little reluctance.

Valtor smirks as he listens to them recount their numerous run-ins with a pesky, Dragon Fire Princess named Bloom.

It seems that the child his Queen had given her own life up for has grown into an arrogant, immature brat. And good dear old Faragonda, Saladin and Griffin are still around.

Perfect. He can destroy them one by one, beginning with Dafne's murderer. Then he can become King.

After countless years of imprisonment and hundreds of different parts played by him, Valtor is finally ready for his main role. And it is one that shall be remembered by all of the Magical Dimension for all the years to come.

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**Finished! Hmm... this was rather strange but I hope that you enjoyed reading it. I just realised that I have almost completely missed out Griffin in this piece (and in my headcannon she and Valtor were close allies once, before the fall of Domino) but oh well. **

**I'd like to emphasise again that this was written for a challenge on the new WCFC forum. I warmly invite everyone to check it out - it's already a fun place with awesome writers, challenges and forum games but it will be even more fun if more people were to join us. So, don't be shy and drop in to say hi! (PS: everyone can participate in challenges and create their own!) **

**Finally, thanks so much for reading this. I hope that you enjoyed and please let me know what you thought about it by dropping me a little review. Constructive criticism is very much appreciated! **

**- Pani Drzwi**


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